GEORGE STADE
623
"Norman " as a tro pe fo r the imagina ti on Mail er wants us all to have.
"The secret ambiti on , after all , had been
to
steal Maril yn ," says
Norman in the book on Maril yn Monroe. Again , why not? The obj ect
a t first mi ght no t seem worth the effort, but it is the quality o f the effort
tha t makes the o bj ect seem worth it. The intended outcome of Nor–
man 's effo rt is tha t Ma ril yn deserves better than
to
fade through
eternity in the na rrow embrace of tha t ni ce Jewish boy from Brookl yn ,
Arthur (no t Henry) Mill er. And the measure of orman 's grea ter right
to her wo uld be the mora l superio rity of
Marilyn
to
A ft er the Fall.
Each
time o rman win s a round , tha t is, one more piece o f rea lity is
sa lvaged for th e imagina ti on . Hi s project is no less than to satura te the
worl d with hi s con scio usness so tha t it will rema in fresh until we a re
ready imagin a ti vely to jo in with it.
T he ques ti on is wh ether thi s p roject requires a ll tha t talk about
gods, devil s, occult powers, Karma, and reincarna ti on. There are o ther
kinds of meanin gs. Aquarius is "awa re of the ineradicably romanti c
inclin a ti on of hi s mind to believe all those tales and legends he desired
to beli eve," but the awa reness does no t cancel out th e beli ef.
orman
has taught us as much about hero ism, but he does no t seem to have
lea rned tha t the fin a l hero ism, the las t bo ut, one fought without
specta to rs and cut-men , the spo tlights
0 ((,
the arena shoddy and damp ,
wo uld be to eradi ca te tha t romanti c inclina ti on of his mind , to beho ld
with a steady eye no thing tha t is no t there and the nothing tha t is. And
still no t lose hi s nerve or hi s mind . o rman 's spirits and powers a re
metaphors? Fine. But No rman has himself insisted that an arti st must
beli eve in hi s metaphors. And he has sa id something more apropos yet:
" Life is ha rd enough
to
see stra ight without founding your philosophy
on a metaphor. "
Henry Mill er, says No rman Mail er, is " the onl y Old Master we
h ave," and so he is. Nor a re we likely to outgrow o ur need for hi s
servi ces. T he hungers o f the Gut a re always with us. Whil e we rema in
human , in o rder to rema in human , we w ill continue to need holidays
from civility, from respo nsibility, from self-consciousness, from the
heavy hump o f identity. Mail er, on the other hand , is our perenni al
Yo un g T urk . For hi s bravura so fa r he has become our main man of
letters. But he is no t the first noveli st of his genera ti on . Tha t titl e
belongs to William Gaddi s; Joseph Hell er is a contender, and Ralph
Elli son has been a promi sing chall enger for twenty yea rs. These men
do no t writ e no vels in a coupl e o f months, or even in a coupl e of years.
T he kind of novel Mail er needs to write cannot be written qui ckl y
anymo re. Mail er admires Mill er too much for "his crazy speed," " hi s
